Griefed, Camped, and Owned: An Alliance Story
by ElevenInches
Summary: A bumbling Alliance guild with homosexual tendencies tries to save a world utterly dominated by the Horde. Griefed, camped, and demoralized at every turn, they nonetheless take a stand. **CHAPTER 3 IS UP!**
1. Chapter 1

1.

"I'm so fucking sick of this."

The speaker was Hemorrhoids, gnome mage, level 85. The splendor of his garb belied the acne, double chin, and poor personal hygiene which plagued him in real life.

"I know," replied Rim of the Light, a mournful-looking paladin wearing Lightbringer's set. "You say that every time we meet."

"Every time, Rimjob," Hemorrhoids replied. "Conclave of the Light? What kind of joke is this, you ass-bandit? King Varian Wrynn has been dead for two weeks. _Two fucking weeks!_ They own us."

Hemorrhoids slammed his fist down on the table. The effect was somewhat muted by the limitations of the /emote function.

The two men were the leaders of Conclave of the Light, perhaps the last active Alliance guild on the Blackrock realm. Raided, griefed, and hunted for sport at every turn, they were demoralized. Behind each leader sat perhaps a dozen followers.

Rim of the Light fidgeted. "The Conclave gives hope to the people," he said.

"What hope?" Hemorrhoids shot back. "All the guilds left months ago. The only reason I'm still here is I don't have $25 for a server transfer. I barely have enough dinero to buy hand lotion anymore."

A paladin named Bobby123 began to spin around in circles. Hemorrhoids watched, annoyed.

"That's my cousin," supplied Rim of the Light. "He's mentally challenged. He likes to play, though, so I put him on auto-follow to keep him happy."

"That's fucking great," said Hemorrhoids. "Now we have another retard in the crew. That's the Conclave for you."

Meanwhile, some of the other guild members had begun to imitate Bobby123's clap dancing.

"Do I know all of these guys?" Hemorrhoids asked, puzzled.

"They're his followers," said Rim of the Light. "He seems to attract people with his simple, sunny disposition. Also, there's a rumor that he single-handedly tanked Deathwing."

Bobby ran up to a bemused Hemorrhoids and gave him a high-five.

Rim of the light stood up from the table. Nobly.

"My friends," he began. "My guildmates. I called the Conclave for a reason. I believe we must seek help in defeating the dread Father Rapeslaughter and the rapacious horde which he controls. Today I would embark on a quest, and I would ask those with courage in their heart to join me."

"What quest?" Asked Hemorrhoids.

"I would seek wisdom from the wisest being in World of Warcraft.," said Rim. "I would speak with Alexstrasza the Life Binder." Murmurs of excitement greeted his pronouncement. Rim puffed up with pride.

"Are you taking about the dragon at the top of Wyrmwrest Temple in dragonblight?" Hemorrhoids asked him.

"Yes, the great Red Dragon Aspect herself," said Rim.

"She's an NPC. She doesn't talk except for pre-scripted comments."

"Nonetheless, I feel it is our only hope. If anyone can tell us how to defeat the horde and restore balance to the server, it is her. And if there is but the merest chance we can, then make the attempt we must."

"Are you fucking serious? This is like the time you tried to recruit Jaina Proudmoore to join the guild because it would bring 'good PR.' I don't know why you're not on a role-playing server. Frankly, I don't know why you're not in a mental asylum."

Rim of the Light fidgeted at this. He appeared to blush, if that was possible.

"Well, you're right about one thing," continued Hemorrhoids. "We need help. But we need to get it from the GM's."

At this point Shlinkers, Rim of the Light's right-hand gnome, spoke up. His tone was measured and earnest.

"The GM's see the Horde on Blackrock as the first truly cohesive nation to emerge in World of Warcraft. A groundbreaking event. Never has so much power and organization been consolidated by one side. They are loathe to interfere."

Hemorrhoids stared at him. "What are you, fucking Yoda?"

Rim of the Light patted the air calmingly. "What they have done is pioneering, indeed," he said. "Although perhaps not in the spirit we would like."

"Pioneering?" Raged Hemorrhoids. "You call this pioneering? I can't even leave this basement without getting raped by five horde at once. I made a level one druid the other day, and I was dead before the introductory video was even finished."

Hemorrhoids was standing on the table now, shaking his fist in the air, and every man was listening.

"There's no difference now between the World of Warcraft and my Real Life. I live in a fucking basement and can't come out else I get my ass kicked. I came here to get away from that.

"I want to be free. Free to level, free to quest, free to play the World of Warcraft! And I can't leave Blackrock. So I'm going to stick my ground. I'm going to spend every waking moment trying to drive these fucking Horde out of here, until I die trying or run out of hand lotion!"

The assembled conclave broke into wild cheers. Bobby jumped on the table and /emote danced. Others followed. A celebration.

"Freedom!" Yelled Barechested Bartholemew, a handsome Night Elf with a penchant for taking off his clothes. True to form, his garb disappeared, and he danced naked on the table.

Suddenly voices sounded from above, cutting into their merriment like a Warglaive of Azzinoth.

"What's all that racket?" Came a harsh voice from the corridor. The Conclave of the Light instantly froze in place.

Several black armored horde emerged from the hallway. They saw the assembled Conclave and laughed evilly.

"Well, well," said a Tauren Warrior, drawing a heavy two-hander. "If it ain't the Conclave of the Light."

But Rim of the Light stood tall. "Go back from whence you came, Horde. Else face our steel."

"Fuck off," Hemorrhoids added, stepping up and readying for battle. The Conclave of the Light, emboldened, lined up behind their leaders.

The Horde warriors stepped back, uncertain at the newfound boldness of their traditional quarry. Several more reinforced them from the hallway. There were perhaps two dozen Alliance players against a dozen or so Horde. Auras and buffs began to fly on both sides as the players steeled themselves for combat.

Then, from the hallway stepped a dark-armored Orc. He wore no helm, and his face was that most evil of Orc visages available at the character selection screen. Hemorrhoids breath caught as they gazed upon the slavering face of Rage.

One of the Blackrock's most feared warriors, Rage was rumored to be a mentally handicapped, legless near-paraplegic in real life. They said ever since he had been hit by a bus several years ago, he said nothing, ate nearly nothing, and did nothing but play World of Warcraft for twenty hours a day, hooked up to his life-support facilities. His level of dedication was unmatched.

The Conclave collectively froze. In real life, Hemorrhoids shat his pants with a whispered curse.

Rage slavered, and charged.

"Oh god," muttered Barechested Bartholemew, as the Horde ran at them. The Conclave held for a moment, then broke under the furious assault, scattering to the four corners of Stormwind, to be hunted down and slaughtered like magpies.

2.

More to come...


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Teldrassil. Soothing night elf music played amidst the moon wells. A Horde Death Knight and Shaman stood against a purple sky, immobile, their backs to a sheer drop to the ocean.

Two low level Alliance toons approached cautiously.

"Wow," said Johnrock in hushed tones. "They look badass. What level do you think they are? It just says '?'"

"That just means 'afk,'" Timmy told him. "You know, away from keyboard. Like when we get bored, and you'll whip it out, and we'll just lay low for a while…"

"Dude, don't talk about that!"

"You don't have to be ashamed," said Timmy. "Kyle in the tenth grade does it." He crept forward toward the Horde.

"Hey. Watch this." Timmy /emote slapped the Shaman on the face. He remained unresponsive. Johnrock /rofl'ed.

Timmy stealthed and slipped behind the Shaman. He began to rhythmically backstab him as Johnrock watched greedily.

"Yeah," said Johnrock. "Give it to him. Yeah."

Johnrock's "yeah's" grew throatier as Timmy continued. He began to make moaning noises. It was really gay.

Suddenly – an explosion –

Timmy was sent flying off the edge of the world by the Shaman's Thunderstorm. Letting out a cry of mortal agony as his dick got caught in his zipper, Johnrock stumbled back and began to run.

He made it all of ten feet before the deep purple embrace of a Death Grip jerked him back to the edge. The Shaman let loose another Thunderstorm and Johnrock was sent hurtling into oblivion..

Evil laughter sounded from the two Horde. A walkie-talkie-like click sounded as the Death Knight radioed in the kill.

"Rage," said the Death Knight, Dethecus, in a terribly deep voice. "Come in, Rage."

Nearby, a Horde warrior named Pearl stood on the receiving end of the nonexistent walkie-talkie. He was clothed in a flowing ermine cape, transmogrified to look like the flayed skin of King Magni Bronzebeard of Ironforge, who was currently dead at the feet of Caltrop, the Horde squad leader tasked with the occupation of that city.

"Do you read me," hissed the walkie-talkie.

"This is Pearl," said Pearl. "Rage isn't here. And anyway, he can't talk. Furthermore, why we're using this walkie-talkie is beyond me. This is an MMO, for Christ's sake.

"Father appointed Rage to guard the graveyard," said Dethecus, peeved. "And we can't risk communications being intercepted."

"Stop being a dick, Dethecus. I swear, sometimes I think you're a 12-year-old with a voicebox."

"Two more are headed your way," Dethecus told him. Pearl turned around toward the graveyard he was guarding.

Huddled in a pitiable heap were a dozen or so low-level Alliance toons, stripped naked, cowering at the menacing Horde who surrounded the graveyard in a ring of magic, steel, and certain death. The two new Alliance, recently killed, appeared in the center, bewildered.

"What is this place?" Asked Johnrock, his voice quaking.

"Hell," wailed a human mage, breaking down into hopeless sobs. "It's hell!" The mage attempted to grab Johnrock and shake him. "Get out of here! Sign out while you still can! It's hell –"

The _crack_ of a rifle shot and the mage fell to the ground instantly. A hunter sidled up to survey his shot with satisfaction.

"You know the rules now," said the hunter in a cheerful Australian accent. His name was Nessingwary's Left Nut. "No riling up your fellows.

"$10 for your freedom," he called, making the rounds. "Just $10, pay, play, and be on your way."

A few yards away, an Alliance druid was conducting business with a Horde guard. Concluding the transaction, he morphed into a bear and happily loped off into the woods, leaving behind $10 and the sullen resentment of his fellows.

Just as he reached the treeline, Rage appeared from nowhere, Charging the druid and Mortal Striking for the kill. Outraged cries broke forth from the beleaguered Alliance.

"Dammit, Rage!" said Pearl.

'WTF?!' said the dead druid on general chat.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Deep, murky green trees silhouetted against a blood red sky. The Felwood. A Tauren Hunter, treant-esque in his ability to blend into the woods, breathed in deeply.

His name was BlackAngus, a captain of the Blackrock Raiders. A half-dozen new Blackrock recruits and his rhino Lunchbag encircled him amongst the trees.

In a forest clearing before them, an oblivious Alliance priest was locked in decidely non-epic combat with a mob. BlackAngus spoke to the recruits in deep, sonorous tones.

"Consider the typical alliance," he began. "He is a young male, ages 15-24, possibly a social outcast, probably has homosexual tendencies. Perhaps manifested, perhaps not, but they lie deep within his psyche among thoughts of bare-chested Night Elves frolicking in the woods of Darnassus."

BlackAngus nodded to himself, pleased at this Freudian introduction.

"You must kill him and camp him, with the goal of frustrating him so that he will spirit healer ressurect, thus delivering him to one of our jails. Most Alliance now have felt the pain of our jails, and they will vigorously resist capture. They will try anything to escape your camping. Thus, you must know his mind and break his spirit to capture him."

Holding up his hand to forestall the recruits, BlackAngus strode into the clearing. The Alliance priest screamed, startled. But BlackAngus paid it no mind. Instead, he began ineffectually attacking a stag in the clearing with a cheap sword he had looted from Ragefire Chasm for this purpose.

"What is this high level Horde Hunter doing?" BlackAngus said, as if narrating the thoughts of this hapless.

"Perhaps he is not after me. Perhaps he is merely leveling skinning." To lend credence to that theory, BlackAngus finished the Stag and began skinning it. As the Alliance relaxed, BlackAngus gazed at it more closely.

"Very interesting," BlackAngus mused. "A female dwarf. What sort of mind lies behind her?

"A dwarf is that ugliest of races. Mainly chosen by short, fat men in Real Life who have approached a state of nirvana with regard to their appearance. But a female? She must be truly downtrodden. And look, she is a healer. She wants to help people. We must use this."

BlackAngus approached another deer. This time, he passively let the stag attack him. It reared up on its hooves and struck, hardly affecting his massive pool of hit points.

But the Priest, seeing him in distress, moved forward and fought off the stag. Turning to her, BlackAngus /emote bowed and even /emote hugged the dwarf female. She /smiled shyly back, then resumed her grinding as before. But something had sparked.

"She trusts us," whispered BlackAngus, satisfied. "Now, to complete the bond."

BlackAngus rushed to the Priest's side and felled her mob with a terrific blow. Turning to her, he spoke.

"So what's a pretty young lass like yourself doing all alone in the forest?" He asked her sweetly.

"Just getting in a few levels before bedtime," she replied. "Should I be worried, hanging out with a big black Tauren like yourself?"

"I'm only big and black where it counts," he said. "Here, follow me. I know a place where the moonberries are plentiful and we can watch the stars together."

Not waiting for a reply, BlackAngus started down a forest path. She hesitated a moment, then followed. As did the recruits.

They romped through Felwood's dark trails as the sun slowly set in the west. He fought off a Satyr, and she flung aside an imp which crossed their path. Eventually, they reached a starlit clearing deep within the Felwood and stood together. He reached out, and they /heldhands.

"Sometimes it can be hard," whispered BlackAngus as he gazed at her, speaking as much to himself as to the recruits now.

He pulled out two flasks of moonberry juice. They drank together in peaceful silence.

"There must be nothing to hide behind," he said softly, as their clothes fell off one piece at a time. "There must be nowhere to run.

He /emote caressed her. She /emote moaned. From the bushes, a druid recruit cast Starfall, adding to the magical atmosphere. BlackAngus stepped behind her and began rhythmically thrusting, his toon melding with hers.

"You get attached," he said. "It can be so good sometimes. So innocent. I'm fat in Real Life too, you know.

"But in the end, we must remember.

"We are the Horde." He rose up behind her kneeling form and raised a massive battle axe, snapping his armor back into place all at once. He brought the axe slashing down so ferociously she didn't have time to scream. With five hit points left, she turned and looked up at him.

"Why?" She asked, her eyes shining with tears.

BlackAngus caressed her. "Shh," he said. "Shh. It's alright."

"Will you hold me?" She asked him. "As you do it?" BlackAngus stepped back, shaken.

"Will you follow me unto death, Tauren?" she said. "If only for a little while. Come with me."

BlackAngus was now oblivious to the recruits or the mission or anything but her dying eyes, beseeching him.

"I…yes," he said to her. "For a little while, my sweet. Let me just…" he began stripping off his armor again. "So there's no durability damage."

The recruits watched worriedly from the trees, wondering what the hell he was doing. BlackAngus held up his hand and Lunchbag charged out of the trees. He released control, and the rhino began attacking him savagely. With just a few hit points left, he re-tamed the rhino. They were both now on the verge of death.

"I've never done this before," he whispered to her. "I've never felt so close. Go now, my dear, into the spirit realm, and I will follow you." He raise the axe in ecstasy.

But as he closed his eyes and swung, she Bubbled, absorbing the hit, and Mind Blasted him to death. He crumpled to the earth.

"Take that, you creepy fuck!" She shouted tearfully at his corpse.

The incensed recruits leapt from the forest, and felling her at once in a barrage of magic and arrows. An Orc Shaman cast Ancestral Spirit, resurrecting BlackAngus. But he did not respond to their concerned inquiries. He didn't even look at them at all.

"No," he whispered. "No." And he ran off and got himself gored by a treant.

The recruits cast resurrection again, but he did not accept. They stood around him uncertainly, wondering what had become of him.

In the ghostly stillness of the spirit void, their two smoky forms sat together, arms entwined, and gazed up at the dark sky.


End file.
